


Even if it Breaks Your Heart

by TardisInWonderland



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisInWonderland/pseuds/TardisInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold and Rush were band mates in the 80s. But after the accident that damaged his leg, Gold retired. Thirty years on and Gold is an antiques dealer and Rush teaches science. They go to the same bar but never meet, however the bartender catches their eye. Belle is young and spirited and wants to see the world. Both of them want to give her the chance... and yet only one will.</p><p>Prompt adopted with love from ddagent.<br/>(ABANDONED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DUE TO COLLEGE)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even if it Breaks Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of finding my flash drive and in memory of my utterly failed attempts to finish old things before starting new ones, here is the complete first chapter of of this fic.

_They say in this town the stars stay up all night._  
 _Well, I don’t know- can’t see ‘em for the glow of the neon lights._  
 _It’s a long way from here to the place where the home fires burn-_  
 _It’s two thousand miles and one left turn._  


_\---------------------------------------------------------------------_

 

Dear Mom and Dad:

My paycheck bounced again- please send money. I’m so sorry to have to ask you this, and I’ll pay you back when the check goes through, but I can’t miss the rent. Don’t worry about me- I’m alright. I’ve got a gig tonight, and I should be coming out on top any time now.

Love,

Belle

 

Dear Belle,

Here’s the rent- it’s no trouble. Why don’t you come on home, sweetie? Or maybe look for a new job at the least? Your mom and I miss you very much.

Love,

Dad

 

Guitar case in hand, Belle French walked down the street towards Rose’s Pub, a surprisingly popular spot on one dimly lit street corner in New York City. The pub owner, Melissa Pyrros (whose great-grandmother or something was the pub’s namesake, Rose) had been so impressed with the crowd Belle drew in on her first night playing that she’d given her a deal: Belle worked the bar for normal wages, and through she could go looking for places to play _outside_ bars, the only pub she played at was Rose’s.

Some people probably wondered what a twenty-two year old woman was doing spending all her time working at a bar in New York, but compared to the waitressing job she used to have, the bar was a palace. It was clean (for a bar, and much cleaner than the restaurant was), it wasn’t too far from her apartment, and it was a steady job with a business unlikely to go under anytime soon. She made higher wages here than she had before, plus the tips from the nights she played. Granted, the hours were longer and she never seemed to get enough sleep, but a place to stay and decent meals were a fair trade as far as she was concerned.

Once inside, she tucked her guitar into a secluded corner and went to relieve Melissa. Belle and the owner worked together to man the bar, especially on busy nights, but mostly because it would be impossible to get a decent night’s sleep without trading off. Melissa waved gratefully and went off to go check on something in the back.

The place wasn’t too crowded tonight, thankfully, but Belle barely had time to orient herself before someone called her name.

“Belle!” She turned to see a tall, handsome, entirely unwanted and _annoying_ man standing behind her. He smiled amiably, but she only glared.

“Get out of here, Greg. I’m working,” she snapped, turning back to fix a drink.

“Aw, come on, baby. You’re _always_ working.” He was clearly trying to appear harmlessly flirtatious, but Belle knew better.

“Gotta eat to live; gotta work to eat,” Belle huffed. Hopefully he would get out of here, and soon. Greg, her ex-fiancé and the person that her parents had sent to New York last year to ‘keep an eye on things,’ showed up at the bar about once a week, sometimes twice. She never played when he was around- it took up all of her strength just to keep calm until he left.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about it if you just came home.”

Belle smiled at a customer as she gave him his drink, and then let it fade back to a scowl as she turned to Greg.

“We’ve had this discussion before, Greg.” She hoped that would be enough to warn him off, but he must not have been completely sober that night, because he kept nagging at her.

“Just come on back, forget your dead end job and your slummy little apartment and get married _, live a normal life_. I don’t understand why you keep up with these crazy ideas when you know nothing’s ever going to happen- none of us do!” By this point his speech was becoming slurred, and he was talking loudly enough to make a scene. Several heads were turned in their direction, either out of fear, curiosity, or both.

“I’m sorry, Greg, but were you going to order a drink or just _get out of my bar_?” Belle normally could have ignored him, but if he was only coming in to insult her there was no point in taking it. “I don’t want you, and I’m not leaving. Why don’t you just run on home with your tail tucked to mommy and daddy, alright?”

That last comment seemed to snap him. He snatched at Belle, grabbing her shirt collar and pulling her up against the bar so that her feet dangled off the ground.

“You little bitch-” Out of instinct, Belle lashed out, putting all her strength into a right hook to his temple. Greg reeled backwards, dropping her to the floor with a thump. She sprang to her feet, stumbling backwards as he came in for a blow, but someone stopped him before he could.

“I believe the lady asked you to leave.” The man seized Greg roughly by the shoulder with one hand, the other slipping into the pocket of his jacket. Though he was smaller and slighter than Greg, Belle could clearly see the outline of a small pistol in his pocket and read the warning in his eyes. Greg was sober enough to understand what that meant, and walked out quietly, if very angrily.

If they were all lucky, he might not remember this tomorrow morning.

“Are you alright?” When Greg left, the man stepped closer to the bar where she stood. He sounded like he was trying to soothe a frightened animal, voice soft and rough with his accent.

“Fine,” she said curtly, trying to keep her breathing even. Her heart pounded, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of anger or fear. She reached to pick up an empty glass from the bar, but he stopped her, covering her hand with his own.

“Your hands are shaking.” His voice was gentle enough that she dared make eye contact before turning back to the bar. Later she would remember the scruffy suggestion of a beard, the glasses, the straw-brown hair, but at that moment she only noticed his expression: pity.

“I could have handled it,” she mumbled. The man scoffed from behind her.

“And the score stands chivalry: one; gratitude: zero.” From the creaking she could tell he stood from his barstool and was likely turning to leave. _Swallow your pride, girl. He may have saved your life._

“Thank you,” she threw over her shoulder, offering a grateful nod. She wasn’t quite ready to give him a smile. The man returned the nod solemnly and turned back to the stage, where someone was attempting to play a Beatles cover. Key word: _attempting_.

The Tuesday night crowd wasn’t as picky as the Saturday group, mainly because Tuesday was amateur night, but even _they_ could tell that the poor man couldn’t sing. He wasn’t even playing an instrument- he just had instrumentals behind him. She mentally cringed, but put on a smile for the customers.

The man finished his last song shortly after and walked off the stage to a smattering of polite applause and a ‘boo’ or two. Very polite, considering what the weekend crowds would say to an act like that.

“Belle!” Melissa hustled up behind the bar, immediately pulling her away. “They’re dying out there.”

“I see that,” Belle tried to sound sympathetic, but all she could manage was ironic.

“And the next act is running late…” Melissa raised her eyebrows suggestively. Belle stiffened, hopeful but not wanting to show it. “Go. I’ll cover.” The woman winked and waved her towards the stage.

Considering that the entire room had just seen her punch someone, she wasn’t very eager to show her face on the stage. Instead, Belle walked over to the piano in the corner, an old but reliable instrument and one that meant putting her back to the crowd. (Thank goodness for microphones). Guitar was her first love, but the piano also had a special place in her heart.

For a moment, she couldn’t think of what to play. There was a brief second of panic where the arsenal of melodies tinkling away in her mind completely failed her. What to play, what to play…? Tonight wasn’t the night for one of her original songs, not yet. She didn’t trust the crowd, and she was still shaking from her run-in with Greg.

Her fingers stroked over the ivory keys lovingly, soothingly. She was suddenly keenly aware of the dents in the ancient piano bench, knew exactly there the wood on the sides of the piano itself was chipped or splintered.

The dark brown wood was a comforting sight, and she could settle into her position at the piano like another person might settle into a different outfit. When she was here, the crowd at the bar went away, the sounds of laughing and drinking fell on deaf ears. Her breathing became the dynamics and her heartbeat the tempo, and her conscious mind shut off as she let her hands do the work.

Breathe. Play. Open your mouth.

Sing.

 

_“Sweet darling,_

_You worry too much._

_My child,_

_See sadness in your eyes._

_You are not alone in life,_

_Although you might think_

_That you are.”_

 

The room slowly quieted as she played through the song, but she didn’t notice that the chatter had stopped until the last chords from the piano faded, leaving nothing but silence for a moment. Then, slowly, someone started to applaud.

Others joined in, and the comforting pattering of clapping hands soon filled the room.

Belle breathed a sigh of relief. The first song was always the toughest, especially with a crowd she wasn’t familiar with. Tuesday night was an unusual time for her to play, and she had no clue what kind of music these people were listening for. All she knew was that there had nearly been a fight and a bad act before her, and something calming was in order, both for herself and for the customers.

“Hey, Belle!” Melissa called from the bar. ‘ _Hey, Belle_ ’ was the standard Saturday night call that meant somebody had a request, and she turned expectantly. “Play Baby Girl, will you?”

Belle hesitated. She hadn’t actually played that song since the first night she auditioned to play at Rose’s. It was a little too real and… very, very _country_ for her taste, but Melissa wanted to hear it and people were nodding, so she shrugged and picked up her guitar. When you played bars, you just learned a little bit of everything to accommodate different crowds.

In the end she wound up playing only one of her own songs, the very last before she went back to the bar. The next group finally showed up, looking flustered and apologetic, and Belle went right on back to work as if nothing had happened.

“That was good,” a man said softly from behind. Accented, vaguely familiar but she couldn’t tell where from…

Belle turned and found that the speaker was indeed addressing her. It was the same man from before, except… no. He had to be the same. Surely she was imagining that he’d changed clothes? Rather than jeans a worn black learther jacket, he was dressed in charcoal suit with a tie that was almost an appaling shade of purple. Her expression must have betrayed her confusion, because he felt the need to clarify.

“That last song- it was really good. Did you write that?”

“I did,” Belle nodded. “Thank you.” She started to turn away again, but he stopped her.

“Have you ever thought about auditioning for somewhere else?”

“Have I?” Belle laughed, a little coldly. “I’ve been trying for four years. This city must like me too much- it doesn’t want me to leave.” She wasn’t usually this sarcastic, but her music was a touchy subject. Every now and then she might find a slot in a local music festival or something small, but every time she sent a recording to anyone, it was rejected. Her job requirements meant she couldn’t frequent other bars or nightclubs because of the hours she worked, even if she didn’t have the deal with Mel.

“Perhaps you might want to try again,” the man suggested, fiddling in his coat pocket. He pulled out a small business card and offered it to her. She took it hesitantly and stuffed it in her pocket without looking at it. “There’s an audition opportunity this Saturday, and if you’ve got more material as good as that last song, I’d say you have a good shot. Give me a call if you’re interested.” With a nod he stood from the bar, straightened his jacket, and walked out the door.

How had she missed that he walked with a cane?

She couldn’t resist a quick, curious glance at the business card after he left. It read “Adrian Gold” with a phone number and an office address, but no job description. Odd.

Several hours later, sometime around two in the morning, the place finally closed. Well, it closed officially, but there were always stragglers and the one or two sleepers that needed to be swept out the door. Rose’s opened for breakfast early in the morning (a strange tradition, but it brought business), though the bar wasn’t open until noon. It would give her just enough time to get home and get a half decent night’s sleep, maybe even a meal, before having to wake up again. Belle shrugged into her jacket and grabbed her guitar case, ready to lock up and head out the door.

 _Saturday_.

She fingered the card in her pocket as she walked home.

Maybe it would be different this time.

 

X

 

Belle left a little early in order to stop by the bookshop on the way. Auditions could be long and boring depending on the host, and she was in need of new reading material. The store was small and cluttered, but it was homey, smelled like old novels, and it was her favorite place for stopping to think. Good things always seemed to happen when she was in a bookshop.

While browsing through the fantasy section, she tripped over a stray pile of books and nearly fell flat on her face, but someone got a solid grip on her shoulders before that happened, pulling her back up to stand straight.

“Careful, there!”

“Thanks-” Belle turned, relieved, but the sight that met her was a surprising one. “It’s you!”

“Well, we’re making a habit of this.” The man she now knew as Mr. Gold smiled back at her. But… wait.

“I thought you had a cane last night?” She picked up the books she’d scattered as she spoke.

“What?” He looked as confused as she felt.

“Last night. After you gave me the card, weren’t you walking with a cane?”

“No, of course-” he stopped mid-sentence as realization struck. “Oh, gods. I’ve got to grow my beard out again,” he groaned.

“ _What_ are you talking about?” She wasn’t crazy, right? Well, barring moving to New York on her own to try to make it into… _something_.

“My name is Dr. Nicholas Rush. You’ve met my… _associate_.” He spat out the word as if it was poison on his tongue, grimacing all the while. She finally had a chance to get a good look at his face- scruffy beard and black glasses slightly askew, warm brown eyes, and hair just long enough to reach the top of his shoulders.

“I assume you know that your associate could pass for your twin?” Belle raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve heard it once or twice.”

“He… gave me an audition date?” Belle raised her eyebrow, hoping Dr. Rush might be able to offer some more information.

“Did he?” Rush looked surprised. “Last I heard he owned a  shop. Whose business has he decided to meddle in now…?” The last part seemed to be more for himself than for Belle to hear.

“You know, you could just come to the audition and find out,” Belle suggested. It seemed perfectly simple. If they knew each other, why not just ask?

“We aren’t exactly…” he began, but seemed to think better of it. “Never mind.”

He shook his head, sifting through a nearby shelf for a particular volume. Belle crouched to the floor to pick up the volumes that had scattered everywhere when she tripped.

“So, have you always lived in New York?” Rush asked with polite interest.  “I’ve been here four years, but my schedule doesn’t offer much time for exploring,” Belle shrugged. “I’m trying to break into the business, I guess you’d say, but it isn’t exactly working out. I mean, it’s better than home.”

“What’s so bad about home? Family, friends…” He sounded almost sad.

“My family is… different. They think I’m insane, and they want me to come back, get married, and live like a fifties housewife for the rest of my life,” Belle scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I want to travel- see the world while I can. There are so many things going on out there, and it’s such a shame to miss it because you’re living in your own tiny little bubble.”

“And you don’t miss home at all?” He seemed incredulous.

“I’ve missed home for fifteen years,” she said, gazing steadily at him. “It’s not where I left from. I’ll see you around?” She took a hesitant step away from him, reluctant to leave before he responded.

“Possibly.”

 

X

 

_The phone rang twice before anyone picked up._

_“Yes, what do you want?”_

_“This is Annabelle French. The- er- bartender.”_

_“Ah. So I take it you’ve decided to come to the audition?”_

_“Yes.”_

Belle really didn’t have any idea where she was going. It took much longer than four years to learn your way around New York if your schedule consisted of eating, sleeping, and working with hardly enough time to catch a breath in between, let alone go out exploring the city.

Belle looked at the address on the slip of paper clipped to the business card. She’d called him for information and gathered that he was a rather irritable Scottish man, but not much more, and hadn’t even been able to weasel out what she was auditioning for. At the slightest sign of trouble, she was ready to run for the hills. At the last moment, Dr. Rush had offered to walk her to her audition, and Belle had gladly accepted.

The address was, in fact, another bar. There was a sign on the door that said “reserved for private party,” but there were people with instruments milling about inside, and there were staff members serving drinks, so it didn’t look too dangerous.

She opened the door slowly, looking around for a sign of anyone she might know. There was no one, not even little Ashley Boyd, a sweet girl who usually showed up at the same places Belle did. She was smart and had a nice voice, but she was a much better actress than a singer in Belle’s opinion.

All the faces in the room were unfamiliar- every _single_ one. Some carried guitars, some other instruments, and some didn’t have anything with them. She was actually about to turn back and leave, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Annabelle, wasn’t it?” Mr. Gold smiled, leaning heavily on his cane with one hand.

“Yes,” Belle nodded and shook his hand. “I-” She stopped as Gold’s gaze shifted to where his almost twin was now standing in the doorway, glaring.

This couldn’t be a good sign.

“Adrian.”

“Nick.”

Belle thought this a very good time to slip away and find a quiet little lonely corner to sit in and hide behind her book.

 

X

 

“What _are_ you doing here?” Gold asked, drumming his fingers on his cane, an old, bad habit that came out when he was annoyed.

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to with that girl,” Rush gestured towards Belle, who was now sitting alone in the corner, buried in a book.

“Up to? Absolutely nothing,” Mr. Gold said with feigned innocence. “I’ve simply been hired by a friend of ours to find him an opening act, and… she’s good.”

“You’d have to be deaf _and_ blind not to notice that, Adrian.”

“A talent like hers comes along once in a generation, and she was stuck playing in a bar in New York City. Her voice is superb, even though she could do with some training, but her lyrics are what will reel people in.”

“And you just had to get to her first, didn’t you?”

“What?” Gold laughed. “You think I want this for me? I’m not actually out scouting talent any longer. I made a deal with Jefferson Maddock, and I’m going on tour with him for the next several months.”

“Reliving the glory days, are you? And since when has Jefferson got a _tour_?” Rush laughed.

“It’s only a few months, but since his second album’s sales skyrocketed, a tour has been in the works. And as for reliving the glory days… I’m his new manager,” Adrian smirked. The laughter stopped immediately, cut off by something between a gasp and a cough.

“You’re what?”

“ _Manager_. And I volunteered to help organize this audition to find him an opening act.”

“He couldn’t be satisfied with anything normal like _asking someone_ , could he?”

“You know Jefferson,” Gold shrugged. “He wanted to find someone different, and I told him the best way to do that was to go out looking for it.”

“And you think she’s it?”

“I think she could be.”

“What if she’s not?” Rush asked. “Doesn’t Jefferson get the final say in all this?”

“He does, but as you said…” Gold glanced over at the brunette in the corner, hair hiding her face. She looked so small and alone, and yet... she was here, fighting for her dreams. “I don’t think he’s blind.”

“Music _is_ blind,” Rush scoffed. “You’ve got to worry about _deaf_ with him.”

Before he could get in another word, feedback from a mic blared through the speakers with a deafening squeal.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” Adrian sighed. He stepped up to the stage, where someone was fiddling with a mic and making a mess of things. Damn the infernal devices- the room was small enough that they weren’t necessary, anyhow.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I assume you’re all wondering what exactly you’re here for.” The room quieted as he spoke, and a few people nodded. Belle sat still and silent as the grave, watching. “Here’s what going to happen: this is an audition for the opening act of a tour. You’ll play, and we’ll let you know if you’re in or out. Any questions?”

“Who’s judging? You?” someone called from the audience.

“Not me. Jefferson Maddock.” A murmur went through the room as Mr. Gold spoke, people glancing around as if Jefferson would be standing in the room. He fought the urge to roll his eyes before continuing.

“Yes, he’s here, but don’t think you’ll see him. I’ll call you name and you’ll preform, and then we’ll let you know if you need to leave or stay. Anything else?”

His tone was threatening enough that no one in the room thought it wise to respond.

 

X

 

Six hours.

She’d been waiting six hours.

It turned out that the reason they’d hosted the auditions in a bar was because of the stage- “If you can’t perform in front of them, how are you going to in front of thousands of people?” they’d said. Belle suspected that Jefferson Maddock would probably be listening in from somewhere a little more concealed. Though she didn’t really know much about him, she knew that three of his four albums had been chart-toppers, and that his voice was actually pretty good. She also knew that he was rumored to be extremely… eccentric. It was probably why he’d decided to go looking for an opening act on the streets of New York. He didn’t actually go by his name, but was known as “The Hatter,” and had more than once referred to himself (jokingly) as mad.

Belle had no clue how some of these people found their way here, but she knew that some of them needed to choose a different career path. They weren’t confident, or they were horribly pitchy, and there was even this one guy who tried to do standup comedy that looked half drunk. He’d been escorted out quickly.

She couldn’t tell if the time was passing so slowly because she was anxious or bored. All of the people who had played so far had been rejected over something or other, even the one guy who was actually very good on drumset. They seemed to be debating the longest over people who played guitar, and the next over piano players.

“Annabelle French!” Mr. Gold called from the back.

Belle fought the shiver that made her whole body grow cold, picked up her guitar, and walked towards the stage. She’d been playing bars for four years now- there was no reason to be nervous. It wasn’t just playing that made her nervous, though, it was… being scrutinized. Her heart sounded louder than her footsteps as she stood center stage, in front of a microphone.

She’d decided earlier that day to play one of her softer songs. She wanted to showcase both her voice and her playing ability, so now was the time to be as real and raw as she possibly could. The song she picked, she’d written a year after she’d first come to New York.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

_Play._

 

“ _Seems the only one who doesn’t see your beauty_

 _Is the face in the mirror looking back at you…_ ”

 

Dimly, she registered movement in the back of the room, but she wasn’t paying attention. Most of her mind was preoccupied with the music, but the little of it still under her conscious control was musing on the dazed look Mr. Gold was giving her.

 

“ _Hold on, baby you’re losing it_

_The water’s high, you’re jumping into it and letting go_

_And no one knows_

_That you cry, but you don’t tell anyone_

_That you might not be the golden one_

_And you’re tied together with a smile_

_But you’re coming undone._ ”

 

After she finished her song, the place was silent long enough that it made her nervous. No comments, no “hold on a moment,” no applause, no _anything_.

“Did you write that?” A voice echoed through the bar. Belle thought she recognized it, though it certainly wasn’t Mr. Gold, but she didn’t waste time debating on who the owner of the voice might be because she was clearly expected to answer it.

“Yes,” Belle nodded, glancing around to try to find the source. She couldn’t find a thing, except for realizing that it was channeled through the speakers. Whoever it was had a microphone, and the speaker was definitely male.

“Why?”

“Why did I write the song? Um,” She thought for a moment about how best to phrase her answer. “There was this girl I used to work with, and she was going through a rough time, so… I wrote it for her.” A pause.

“Why do you want this job?” he asked.

“I… I love music,” Belle stammered, she hadn’t been expecting the question and answer session. “It’s a part of me, and I can’t imagine doing anything else, and I want to see the world while I play. New York is fine, but there’s no point to living life in a bubble if there’s a chance for so much more.” Silence met her once again, but only for a moment.

“Stay,” the voice said decisively. “You’re good.”

Shocked, Belle nodded and slowly made her way back to her seat in the corner. She’d been completely prepared for them to send her home. It would almost be welcome at this point, as she simply wished to fade into the wall.

During the rest of the auditions, she pulled out her notebook of staff paper and worked on the piano melody of a song that was in progress. It was probably best to keep her mind off the problem at hand, and she wasn’t the only one in the room completely spacing out.

When she ran out of ideas for the melody, she started doodling in the margins, writing notes to herself, basically documenting the day in the blank spaces on the page. Her notebooks always served as a strange combination of diary, songbook, scratchpad, and calendar, and Belle never showed them to anyone. She’d filled up three already and was working on a fourth.

Somehow, in the middle of writing a note to buy more milk and hearing an act that actually sounded quite nice, she fell asleep.

 

X

 

Belle jolted awake sometime later- her watch showed another hour had passed- to the sounds of a very flamboyant guitar player, and looked around to see that the only people left in the room were her and the person on stage.

The debate over him lasted long enough, but eventually the final call came.

“Next.”

The guitar player shrugged, shook his head, and walked off stage.

“Next, please,” Mr. Gold called from the back, sounding annoyed.

“There’s no one left,” Belle said, standing hesitantly. “It’s just me.” She rubbed her arms, nervous, as he gathered his papers and gestured to the empty stage.

“Ah. Good. Jefferson, you can come out now.” The curtains at the sides of the stage rippled, and suddenly a hand emerged, and then an arm, threading its way through the mass of fabric. A moment later a head popped out, smiling. Jefferson Maddock waved at Belle, making his way down to the floor of the room.

“And you too, Nick. I know you’re here.”

Dr. Rush appeared in a similar fashion from the shadows in the back of the room, coming up to stand beside Mr. Gold. Belle fought not to stare, and instead concentrated on Jefferson, who was walking forward to shake her hand. She’d heard him sing before- he was actually very good in Belle’s opinion, though his iconic fashion sense was another subject entirely. She ought to be intimidated, but at this moment, in a t-shirt and jeans and a very odd-looking hat, he seemed so perfectly ordinary that it was impossible for her to be overwhelmed.

“I’ve got to say, you’re very good,” he smiled. “But I also have to be honest… I wasn’t looking for an opening act.”

“What… were you looking for?” Belle raised an eyebrow.

“I sing, but I can’t even play the spoons, and my usual band recently split, so I’m starting from scratch,” Jefferson explained. “I’m putting together a new group, and I need a lead guitar player.”

“But I play acoustic-” Belle began, but she could hardly get a word in. Jefferson waved his hand, dismissing the notion entirely.

“With a talent like that, you could learn. I have the perfect man to teach you, if you’re willing. The pay’s good, and you’ll get to travel- see the world, just like you wanted.”

“Ok,” she bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the very giddy smile spreading across her face. She’d made cuts before and performed in small places, but nothing like this!

“Great,” Jefferson nodded. “And as for who’s teaching you…” he turned around, looking very pointedly at Mr. Gold.

“What?” Gold asked. Jefferson raised his eyebrows, waiting for something. A look of pure realization crossed Gold’s face. “Oh, no, Jefferson. I don’t do that anymore-”

“Yeah, here’s the thing,” Jefferson started, feigning innocence. “I don’t actually need a manager. I _have_ a manager. I need a set player.” Mr. Gold’s mouth dropped open. Maddock shifted his gaze to Rush, standing beside Gold with a bemused expression.

“And a keyboard player.” Rush’s face immediately mirrored the shocked expression of Mr. Gold.

“There is no way-”

“Oh, come on, boys!” Jefferson jogged to the back, standing between them and throwing his arms around their shoulders. They did not look amused. “I know you’ve had your differences…”

“That’s an understatement,” Rush spat.

“But you’re the best of the best! You can’t be burnt out yet,” he pleaded. “Come on. You know you miss the road. Do it for your nephew!”

“You’re our second cousin.” Mr. Gold pointed out. Belle thought it best not to say anything.

“Please? You know, I could use the hands-on experience of two of the greats…” It almost looked like Jefferson had them convinced.

“I’d like to help you, Jefferson, really, but I’d also like to point out that I’m a _professor_. I have other obligations besides-”

 “A year.” Jefferson said quickly. “One year, that’s all. Just take one year off, and come on tour with me. Call it a mid-life crisis if you want! I’ll even match your current pay.”

“I may consider it,” Rush sighed, gently removing himself from Jefferson’s embrace. “But don’t think that’s a yes by any means.”

“Close enough!” The Hatter looked like he’d just won the lottery. He turned to Gold expectantly. “How about you?”

“This is a bad idea, Jefferson…”

“Excuse me?” Belle suddenly jumped in. All three heads turned towards her, as if they were surprised that she was still standing there.

“Does anyone care to explain this to me?” Belle raised her eyebrows, hands on her hips. “ _How_ do you all know each other and what on _earth_ are you talking about? Jefferson looked sheepish, rubbing his neck apologetically. There was quite clearly a part of this story that she didn’t know, and they weren’t prepared to tell her.

“About that…”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

_Please don’t worry ‘cause I’m all right-_  
 _I’m playing here at the bar tonight._  
 _This time I’m gonna make our dreams come true._  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> Baby Girl by Sugarland  
> Our Farewell by Within Temptation  
> Tied Together With a Smile by Taylor Swift


End file.
